


Of Blood

by Attaining



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon - TV, Character Study, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Femslash, Gen, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-02-06 14:57:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12820008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attaining/pseuds/Attaining
Summary: An expansion on the Greyjoys time in Meereen, from Yara's POV. Theon doesn't take news of Ramsay's death well, and Yara deals with the fall out before the Dragon Queen.Other chapters can more or less stand alone.Chapter 2: Yara and Dany bond over drinks. OK so Yara flirts over drinks.Chapter 3: Missandei helps Theon with a bath. Theon asks Yara why she didn't leave him behind.Chapter 4: Tyrion failed to console Dany, but Yara might do better. Explicit sexual content, Dany/Yara.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own GoT. Obviously.
> 
> I've just been interested in character studies and passing the time between seasons. And there should be more Yara out there. This fic lives in the TV-verse.

Yara didn’t wait for the Unsullied soldiers to open the doors for her, she threw them open in rage herself. Summoned like a child, she was furious that the Unsullied had appeared at the brothel where her ironborn were enjoying a night ashore. She had been trying to find her own night’s pleasure when they approached her.

Something was wrong with her brother, and with a frustrated sigh, she left her men and returned to the great stone pyramid. A problem with Theon was the last thing she needed before sailing to war. Taking the Dragon Queen and her armies to Westeros was only the first step in retaking her Islands and killing her uncle. And now another incident with her little brother. But when she saw the dwarf Hand and the Queen waiting, she knew it was going to take her night.

“Where is my brother?” she demanded as she strode in front of them.

Lord Tyrion looked down on her from his place on the dias, apprising her. She supposed a little man would enjoy such demonstrations of power over a woman. “Was there something you perhaps forgot to mention about Theon Greyjoy?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Did you perhaps forget to mention that your brother is, on occasion, mad?” Lord Tyrion said as he took a step forward. Yara felt her heart squeeze. This was not the time for her brother to relapse into that mewling creature she found in the Dreadfort, sleeping with dogs in his own shit.

She stood her ground. The Dragon Queen looked impassively at her, but Yara could see her mind working. “Bring me to him.”

“I think an explanation is at hand, first. I knew your brother to be an arrogant fool, trying too hard in every way, but I had not known him to be a frightened animal.”

The Queen addressed her, “A message came from Westeros regarding a battle in the North. House Bolton fell and there is a Stark again in Winterfell. Does this mean something to you?”

Yara shifted her weight. The Bastard of Bolton had likely met a fitting end at the hands of the Starks. Sansa Stark, likely, with the help of their own bastard. “No. But my brother was held prisoner to the Bastard of Bolton. He escaped with Sansa Stark.”

“Oh? Then would this not be joyous news to your brother?” the Queen asked. Tyrion looked concerned at the mention of the Stark girl.

“My people are a sea people. Word travels fast through waves. We’ve long heard rumors of your rising in Essos. A girl, once sold and raped, birthed dragons to take back the seven kingdoms.”

The Queen tried to hide her discomfort at this presentation of her, glancing at her Hand.  

“I told you my brother paid for his plot to take Winterfell. He was taken by the bastard of House Bolton, Ramsay. He tortured Theon. He mutilated my brother. Did killing the men who wronged you stop your dreams?” Yara stared hard at the Queen. Theon was ironborn. What Theon lost was at the core of who their people were. Though she needed him, she wondered if he could ever become Theon Greyjoy again.

She looked thoughtfully down at Yara before finally saying, “No. It did not. Even still, I cannot have a man lacking his mind lead into battle.”

“Then it’s good that I lead the ironborn. My brother told you himself he was not fit to rule. Leave him to me. If my brother is truly gone, then I will see him mercifully dead.” As the Queen nodded to a Dothraki soldier, Yara breathed deep. Her claim looked less and less viable with each passing day. She had endured her father’s reckless wars for years with everyone else paying the price for her father’s stubborn zeal. But her father had also made her his heir while her baby brother was raised by wolves in the North, far from the sea and salt. Her brothers cut down, only Yara stood.

She turned at the sound of footsteps and saw her brother standing, shoulders hunched and staring at the ground, flanked by Unsullied soldiers. His hair was unkempt; he was wearing only a linen undershirt and leather breeches. He didn’t even wear shoes. Her blood boiled to see her brother presented this way before the Queen and her soldiers. “Theon.”

He shook his head. “Not Theon, m’lady, Reek.”

She shut her eyes as her stomach turned. He had not acted this way since the bath the night before the kingsmoot. He had been wild, desperate, begging and pleading. Yara approached him and stopped before him; he did not move. “Do you not recognize me, brother?”

“Yara… you’re Yara,” he said slowly.

“What happened?” She meant to ask Tyrion as she looked her brother up and down. Cowering again. This was not the Greyjoy way.

Instead it was Theon who answered, babbled really. “Yara. They, they don’t know him. They don’t know him. Tell them, you saw. You saw what he’s done. He’ll find us… Sansa, Lady Sansa. It’s a trick. He can’t--the Master isn’t like other men. You can’t kill him. He knows. He knows everything, it’s a trick.”

Her brother had come home and supported her in the kingsmoot, but he reminded her so much more of the terrified little boy that the Starks took away from their mother’s skirts. She remembers the scent of dog and death as she tried to pry him from his cage in the Dreadfort. He screamed and cried loyalty to the man who cut him. Yara had not been reared to be a sensitive or gentle woman. His behavior was a disgrace in the eyes of the ironborn. They prided themselves in being fit, virile, and strong. To be anything else was to be as weak as the enemies they raided, seized and raped. Thralls and salt wives, those who toiled in the mines. Yara never loved this way of life, but it was the only life she had ever known. To be a woman and command, she had to be better than anyone. She had to kill five times more men, yield raids larger than any, crush more enemies and rain riches, drink and women upon her men. Now before her stood her baby brother, weak and broken. How was a hard woman to ever remember her mother’s gentle touch?

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shook him. “He’s dead, Theon. Do you hear me?”

He was crying, frantically shaking his head. “No, no, no. It can’t be. It can’t.”

“Stop crying,” she demanded harshly. He only continued his pitiful display. She slapped him once and repeated herself. “I told you to stop crying. You’re Theon Greyjoy, my blood. The Bastard of Bolton is dead and you’re never going back. He can’t hurt you. No one is hurting you.”

He took her strike and sniffed, his tears stopping. He nodded obediently. “Theon. You have to remember your name.”

“And?”

“The… The Master is dead,” he murmured. Yara wanted to strike him again for this farce. He’d returned to the obedient slave, telling her what she wanted to hear.

“What do you know of Lady Sansa?” Tyrion interrupted, stepping down the stairs to approach them. Yara released her brother and stood between them. She had no desire for a well-spoken Lord from Westeros to confuse her brother further.

Theon shook and wounded sounds escaped him. He took a short glance at Tyrion before returning his gaze the floor. If she was going to salvage any dignity for her brother, they would need to leave, fast. Her brother took his time before saying, “We _flew_. Down into the snow, but we flew. Ran from the dogs, but they would catch us and eat us while we screamed. Tried to lure them away, but they found her. Lady Brienne of Tarth, she saved us. Sansa went to find Jon Snow at Castle Black.”

“Oh good, two comprehensible sentences. He’s already improving,” Tyrion quipped. “Can you make any sense of this nonsense? It’s been rambling and shouting since the message arrived.”

“Lady Sansa was married off to the Bastard, Ramsay. Look at my brother. You can imagine the treatment she received.” Lord Tyrion looked distressed and Yara felt satisfied. “My brother told me a servant of the Boltons threatened the girl with a bow. Theon killed the servant and took Sansa to the ramparts. They jumped into the snow and ran into the woods. They were caught by a Bolton hunting party, but a woman knight appeared and killed the hunters. Theon came home to Pyke; the Stark girl went to the Night’s Watch.”

“He hurt her…” Theon said to himself. “But Lord Tyrion was kind to her.”

“Oh, and how would you know that? I’m a dwarf, we’re quite famous for our monstrous qualities, haven’t you heard?”

“Lady Sansa said Lord Tyrion was kind.” Theon’s eyes darted back and forth frantically, confused by his self-deprecation.

“Leave him be,” Yara said quietly. She was disappointed. After the brothel, he’d been doing better. He kept the night watch because he couldn’t sleep, but she’d started to force nightshade on him to get him to stop pacing the ship. He would finally sleep and during the day, he sought chores and tasks, manning the rigging, directing men. He was quieter than she ever remembered, but he drank his ale, sometimes looked her in the eye, and humored her enough to eat. He practiced the sword with her, struggling to get his strength back, but it slowly returned. He was still too thin, unable to hold down much food, but he could still hold his own against her men with sword in hand.

Now she was beginning to realize her brother had replaced one Master with another.

Yara noticed the tall dark skinned woman whisper in the Queen’s ear and now the Queen rose, approaching her brother. “I have been told that such behavior is not uncommon from slaves who have been most mistreated by their masters. I was once a slave, sold to my husband. Missandei was once a slave, stolen from her home. The Unsullied were once slaves, gelded as children. Although your treatment may have started as punishment for a crime, I know men like this… Ramsay. Your foot has been obviously crushed and misses toes. You lack a finger on your hand. I can already see scars at your neck, hands, and feet. I am certain they are many. I have seen these men rise and fall. I have killed many of them myself. And they do die, just as easily as any man. That is the trick, Theon Greyjoy, to make you believe a master is more than just a man.”

Though Theon’s head was still bowed before her, he rose just so to stare at her in wonder.

“Do not use the name a master gave you when you served at his feet; use the name you chose when you set this Lady Sansa and yourself free. There are no slaves in Meereen, do you understand?”

“Yes, your grace,” Theon replied quickly, his body calming before her gaze. Yara was impressed with this Dragon Queen. She had managed to right her brother with soothing words when Yara could only think to scold him back to himself. Lord Tyrion looked equally impressed by her.

“Missandei will take you to your room to rest. A bath will be drawn and food sent to you there. I suggest you speak with her. She has given me more wisdom than most. Lady Greyjoy, I apologize for interrupting your night. Had I known this was the source of your brother’s behavior, I would not have troubled you over such a minor thing.”

Oh, she was good. Yara met her eye and saw the interested smirk there. “I’m sure I can find a way to still pass the time pleasurably.”

Tyrion merely put his face in his hand and her brother muttered his apologies to her as Missandei gently led him out of the great hall. Yara wondered if this is how the world would be if women had slain the men and taken charge themselves. What if women and cripples and all the discarded people had not put up with ironborn raids? What if they rose to serve the Drowned God harder and stronger? Yara thought she might need to get to know this woman of fire better. She would check on her baby brother, hold his hand through his terror if need be, where no one could see her and no one but Theon would know. She had held his hand through his fears many times as children. Theon would come through this whether he liked it or not. But now, Yara knew an invitation when she saw one and it would be poor politics to turn down a queen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yara gets her flirt on. Dany is not uninterested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was initially supposed to be a one shot, but I had a few other ideas. Idk most of my fic is just conversations I wish happened in canon and I have mad writers block after finishing In Search of Spring. 
> 
> I also think there is not enough femslash in this fandom. Nor enough women teaching Theon about the joys of pegging. Maybe this is just me. These can more or less stand alone. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> The plan:  
> Chapter 2: Dany and Yara chatting  
> Chapter 3: Missandei and Theon chatting  
> Chapter 4: Probably not a lot of chatting because Yara fully intends to show Dany what's great about lesbian sex  
> Chapter 5: Future forward Missandei/Grey Worm/Theon. Maybe.

“And your fleet will be ready by the morning?” Daenerys asked, pouring Yara Greyjoy a second cup of wine. Yara had her feet on the table as she relaxed into her drink. 

“On your word,” she confirmed, bringing the glass to her lips. She swirled the cup, looking into the deep red.

“You don’t usually drink wine, do you?” The pleasant smile sent fire to her belly. Yara grinned. Daenerys was an intriguing woman, small and silver, but made of the stuff that breeds dragons. She must be a harder woman than she appeared, dressed in silks with skin Yara imagined to be soft and smooth to the touch. Yara wore leather and knives and her mouth dropped the proper curses of a sailor. Somehow they were both meant to rule. 

“More of an ale people, mine.” 

Daenerys drained her glass, her eyes half lidded with a testing question on her lips. “Your brother, too?”

The glass clinked when she set it on the table just a little too hard. Her brother. All she wanted this eve was to wet a cunt and drink until she passed out, not think on her troubled family, whatever was left of it: her lord father dead, her uncle a murderous letch, and her little brother flayed until he forgot his own name. “Not as of late.” 

“You care dearly for him.” The Dragon Queen moved her chair closer as concern, or curiosity, danced in her eyes. Yara had never seen a woman with those color eyes; nothing of violet ever flourished on the Iron Islands. 

“He’s the only blood I have left not like to murder me for my ships,” she replied, hoping the bitterness did not slip out quite as much as she felt it. 

Daenerys hummed. “My own brother, Viserys, was the one who sold me to the Dothraki and my eldest brother was murdered by Robert Baratheon. Our time was not very pleasant.” 

“Then we have something in common. My brothers were murdered by Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark. Theon was taken as prisoner by the Starks as a child to keep our father in line. Didn’t see him for nine years ‘til he came back to Pyke.” Yara finished off her drink, already pouring another and refilling the Queen’s. Daenerys raised a delicate brow. 

“Oh? Was your reunion a happy one?” 

Yara snorted and laughed, remembering the way he swaggered to her, cocky smirk as he looked her up and down, dressed in his northern skirts. Hardly had their ride begun before he was shoving his hands across her tits and cunt like a greenboy eager for his first feel. Her immediate thought was that he was too stupid to be a threat. “He was a spoiled cunt who came to the Islands thinking everyone there would worship at his feet. But Father had chosen me as his heir, and I didn’t want the babe raised by wolves returning home to snatch it from me all because he had a cock.”

Daenerys tilted her head in appreciation of her sentiment. Any woman who sought power had likely faced an army of men telling her a woman could not rule. Yara wondered how many Daenerys had slain. “Viserys was only concerned if Drogo would find me fit enough to have his way with me. But why do you sound as if you feel guilty about this?”

“Loyalty to blood is a cruel fate.” Then, she glanced at the Dragon Queen with surprise. When she had opened that wooden box to see her brother’s flayed manhood severed there, guilt and rage pooled in her stomach. She shouldn’t have left him in Winterfell. She could have knocked his arrogant head in and dragged him home. “He came with an offer from his other family. Our father swatted him down in favor of another doomed rebellion. Forced his hand to choose his blood and we laughed as we gave him a shit ship with a shit task while I led the real fleet. Like the fool he was, he took Winterfell instead to prove himself to Father. I went to take him home before the North murdered him, but he wouldn’t have it. Everyone with a cock is too stuck on pride to reason. So I left him. Now he is as you see him.”

“I had heard that your people were traitorous murderers, rapers and reavers with no regard for anyone. Your care for your brother has shown me that perhaps there is another side to you Ironborn,” Daenerys said kindly, her hand gently resting on Yara’s. She stared at their hands meeting, her skin burning where the Queen touched her. By the Drowned God, she had been at sea too long. She was already imagining what those hands could do. 

“We can be pleasant under the right circumstances,” Yara purred lightly, leaning in. 

“Oh, I’ve heard about you, Lady Greyjoy. I’ve heard you only take women to bed with you. Have you ever taken a man?” Daenerys asked curiously, feigning innocence as she rested her head in her hand. 

“Every woman and girl on the Iron Islands has taken a man to bed. By choice is another matter,” Yara said plainly. Daenerys knew as well as she what men prized women for.  “And have you ever been with a woman, Your Grace?”

“It was a Dothraki woman who showed me how to please my husband, but I don’t think the demonstration was quite the same,” she said, fondly recalling the memory, a small smile playing on her lips. Yara could easily picture them swollen and pouting. 

“Pity,” Yara murmured, boldly reaching out to cup Daenerys’ face in her hand. She leaned into it with a brazen grin. Her skin was soft as she had pictured. “You’d enjoy it. Who better than another woman to make your cunt sing out to the gods?” 

“I don’t know, I’ve a lover who sates my needs well. And women are so little,” the Queen said, as if to imply a woman could not handle Daenerys Stormborn. Yara longed to throw her on the bed and show her exactly how wrong she could be. 

She leaned in close. “Has this man ever danced his tongue over your cunny so well your spill ran down his chin while you shook and moaned above his face?”

Daenerys’ pale cheeks blossomed pink, her smile growing wider. “Are you suggesting you could show me something better?”

“I am. And I can,” Yara laughed lightly, merely inches from her face. The sound of her breathing was hot in the Ironborn’s ears. She could feel herself slick in her breeches, uncomfortably tight. 

Daenerys teased. “You would make my lover jealous?” 

“You’re not a married woman and you’re not going to take a lover to Westeros, not when you’ve alliances to make. You ever ask a man if he wanted to see his lover take another woman to bed? He’d only ask to watch or join,” Yara laughed. Daenerys looked away for a moment and Yara sighed. She had hit a nerve. Perhaps the lover meant more to her than a swift prick under covers. She sat back. The Ironborn did not place much stock in having only one lover. A rock wife was for babes, the salt wife for pleasure. For Yara, that had meant a girl in every port. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you cared something for him.” 

The Dragon Queen downed her glass of wine. “Do I? We sail soon for Westeros and the real battle will begin. I may need to bargain my body again for a political arrangement. I’d rather just get on with all of it.”

“Only a fool wouldn’t feel impatient to see a war’s end. I’d like to get on with killing my uncle, personally. We’ve all come to you for a reason. There’s time for peaceful moments later.” Yara stood to give the Queen her space. She would not bed her tonight and she had her own needs to attend. Fine by her, Yara had been raiding and reaving since she was a girl. It was not done without a bit of care and patience. Men trample and destroy everything; she valued that which she planned to take. Daenerys met her with an apologetic look and Yara pressed a kiss to the Queen’s hand with a knowing wink. “When you change your mind, you’ll still find me up for anything.” 


	3. Missandei & Theon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missandei attends Theon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned into bit of a double chapter, starting with Missandei and Theon and ending with Yara and Theon's chat. 
> 
> I’m not in love with this chapter and trying to figure out how to make it better. Any helpful feedback welcome!

Missandei had meant to walk at his side, but Lord Greyjoy trailed behind her, his shoulders hunched and his gaze at the floor. She faintly heard him saying something to himself and as they approached his chambers, she realized it was his own name, “Theon. Theon. Theon.”

“Lord Greyjoy,” she began and he shuddered as if struck. She had seen slaves go mad before, Unsullied boys who could not suffer the abuse or women so battered and used they were left to wander the streets or were strung up to mark the miles until the next city. Had this Lord been a slave in the free cities, she did not think he would live long, unless, of course, his master liked him this way. For what purpose she did not wish to think on. She gestured to the open door, finding a more suitable place to allow him rest. “I hope these chambers will meet your needs.” 

He only stared at the door, fearful he would not be let out if he went in. Missandei lightly cleared her throat. “Does the room not please you?”

Lord Greyjoy shook his head and walked past her carefully, standing in the chamber, uncertain of himself. Missandei followed and began to light a fire. She was startled slightly when he appeared next to her, taking a log from her hand. “Let me. Please. You… you don’t have to stay.”

“Her Grace would like me to attend to your needs, if I may. You did not appear well.” 

“I’m sorry,” he replied, almost on command. She could envision the ways he had been trained. As he finished tending to the fire, servants appeared with food and hot water for a bath. Lord Greyjoy did not react to them, so she directed them to place the tub, the water and food. It was then the Lord seemed to notice their presence. As they left, he bid them thanks. 

“Do you need assistance, Lord Greyjoy, with your bath?” she inquired politely. He looked at her with wide eyes, shaking his head quickly. She watched him curiously. He was the brother of a future queen, but he had also been a slave. He acted more the latter, perhaps that is why she felt so bold. And had her Queen not encouraged her to talk to this man? “Why do you appear so frightened of a bath?” 

He licked his lips and looked away from her. “Not supposed to.” 

“You are not supposed to bathe?” Her brows knit together in question. The Ironborn reminded her much of the Dothraki. All but this one, who reminded her mostly of those long dead. “Is this a custom of the Iron Islands?”

Lord Greyjoy appeared confused at her question. “No? The M--Ramsay. He didn’t want me to, unless… unless I was pretending.”

“Pretending?”

“To be Theon Greyjoy,” he answered, looking at his bare feet, shame emblazoned on his face.

She paused to consider what she had heard before the Queen. “Your master named you Reek and forbade you to bathe. Was this to match your name and remind you of your place in his keep?”

He blinked as he met her eyes for the first time, as if she had spoken a language he now understood. He body relaxed, only slightly. He nodded, his voice soft. “Yes, m’lady.”

“You do not need to address me this way, Lord Greyjoy,” Missandei said evenly. “You are no longer a slave.” 

He swallowed and looked away. He seemed to consider if he wished to speak with her further. “I was… a dog. Lower.”

“This is also how the Unsullied received their names.” Lord Greyjoy nodded at this and continued to stand, his stance awkward and strange. He looked as though he had been beaten regularly. She had heard he was young, but he looked much older than his years. She supposed he would be handsome if he regained his composure. Missandei looked into the fire.  “Before our Queen broke the chains, it was the way of life for many. This one served as translator for my master’s business needs ...and to play his games with other girls, should the need arise. I had been a slave since I was a child, stolen from my home. Many slaves were beaten and starved, killed when they were no longer of use. We are chattel to the masters. We are not people to them. But we are people.”

“Wasn’t a child like you. You didn’t… didn’t deserve it. I deserved everything. I deserve to be like this.” 

Missandei found him to be a curious person. The other lords she had met from Westeros were so sure of themselves, expressing their wit like Lord Tyrion or demonstrating their honor and skill in battle, such as Ser Jorah. Guilt seemed to wrap around this man like fog in the harbor. “Have you spoken of it with anyone?”

He shook his head, no. She had Grey Worm. Even her Queen would hear her words on such matters. Missandei lived among a people long used to slavery, a community of people who shared tears together at their freedom, who slayed the masters in righteous anger. How lonely it must be to exist in a land where only you have been discarded and disgraced in this way.

“Lord Greyjoy, I do not mean to be so forward, but how will you remember that you are not a dog if you continue to live by the ways your master taught you?”

“Yara… says the same. But--” he stopped abruptly, fidgeting with his hands, his head still ducked down. He seemed lost in his own thoughts. She remembered the girls that loved the masters that bedded them, stole their babies from their wombs, threw them down stairs for a misspoken word, but still they loved them. She remembers these masters who would treat slave girls to silks and fine foods in secret, wooing their affections when it suited them. They played games of the mind and she was grateful that her own master was too crude and stupid to use such deception against her. 

“Then why?” 

“I… wasn’t loyal. I wasn’t good. He… he only hurt me when I was slow. Didn’t learn. I murdered poor orphans and beheaded the man who taught me the bow because I was Ironborn. I turned cloak and he came for me. He cut out Theon Greyjoy, cut him into a thousand pieces. I can listen now. I can serve now. I, I should thank him, for his kindness. But… The Master is dead. Ramsay is dead. Yara said.”  

She watched him return to his previous state, the one so distraught he did not seem to know if he existed in the present or the past. She felt pity for him. None could be made a better person through such means. He continued his long stare at the floor, now silent and blank. Missandei noticed the steam disappear from the bath and the water would soon grow cold. 

“Lord Greyjoy, I have seen many cut men before in the baths and many wounded slaves. Your Queen has bidden you to eat and bathe. Allow me to assist you, and we can speak more. I will not mind what I see.” 

Though he shook and wheezed, he turned his back to her and began to lift his linen undershirt. She noticed his arm shake and realized he had difficulty lifting one arm above his head. Carefully, she lifted the cloth for him and he slipped out with a muttered thanks. It was then she noticed the familiar sight of the whip laid to flesh, sigils burned and cut into skin to brand a slave. She found herself asking, “Do you hurt?”

He slowly glanced back at her over his shoulder, giving a slight nod. “...No one has asked me before, if it hurts. Except… if it was supposed to.”  

She frowned at him. “What continues to hurt you? I can bring a healer--”

“No. It’s fine. I don’t need…” he trailed off, uncertain. Missandei knew well the way memory could all bleed together into one jumble of images or words. When one is beaten so often, how can you remember each instance? “Everything hurts. I can’t remember anymore, before... He flayed me and beat me and burned and whipped and hunted me. And he, he took… took… and that thing... Mayhaps it’s meant to hurt, forever, so you remember. The Master is always with me. In my bones. I feel him.”

_ Does he know he’s speaking out loud?  _ Missandei could only watch. Is this what the Unsullied silently endure? Does Grey Worm wake in pain and dismiss it as he’s been trained? She had watched the masters do unspeakable things to others. She had endured unspeakable things. _ They cannot be undone, so we let them die with the masters.  _ She thought of the time she had been wild, spitting like a cat at the men who razed her home and the beating that left her limping for six months before she learned to use a quiet voice, that her natural talents would lead her away from harsh labor and the brothels.

With jerking motions he fumbled with the laces of his breeches, looking back at her and pausing. Missandei politely turned her back, listening to the fabric bend and fold. At the swoosh and splash of water, she found him in the bath, his knees pulled to his chest, curled into himself. She held out a wash rag to him and he took it hesitantly, seeming grateful she had not tried to touch him. She left him to carefully wipe at his scarred skin for a time. He rocked slightly, looking straight ahead, quickly wiping himself down so that he would not need to see his own body. 

She watched him struggle to reach his back, the wince on his face impossible to ignore as he tried to force his arm to stretch. Missandei indicated she could assist in reaching his back. He reluctantly returned the rag to her and braced himself, looking more like a frightened child than a man. As Missandei gently brought the cloth to him, she ignored his flinch. She felt compelled to do something kind for this man who seemed so lost in his suffering. She, too, knew the sting of a whip.

“I often wondered, if I had not been stolen from my home, would I have learned nineteen languages? Would I be able to translate Dothraki to the common tongue and back to High Valyrian? I do not know. But I think would have been happy to only know one if it had meant avoiding the Good Masters of Astapor. Although, had none of this happened, I would not have met my Queen,” she surmised, squeezing water from the rag to let it run free down his back. Nor would she have met Grey Worm and she recalled fondly the way he regrets nothing for he appreciates everything. Lord Greyjoy seemed to listen intently, his brow furrowed in concentration. Perhaps the water soothed him some. She had heard the Ironborn worship a god of the sea.

“I would be dead if I stayed loyal to Robb…” he said quietly. “I should have died with him.” 

“But you are not dead,” Missandei pointed out, wiping at his neck. “Did you truly not know what you did was wrong until your master beat you?”

“Didn’t feel right,” he muttered, rocking himself to frighten away the visions. She stroked the back of his head as she remembered her mother once doing. “From the start. Betray Robb or betray my father. I chose wrong. But it was too late to undo it. I’d already taken the castle. I chose the iron price, so I paid it.”

“Then your master taught you nothing,” she concluded. She gestured for him to lean back so she could wash his hair. He shook his head, babbling to himself that she shouldn’t help him, that her kindness was wasted on him. She only smiled calmly until he acquiesced, remembering it was the Queen who bade them both this role. He apologized for bothering her. “There is no need to apologize, Lord Greyjoy.”

“Theon… please,” he asked in a whisper. “It’s easier to remember when others say it.” 

“Theon,” she repeated, pouring water over his head. He closed his eyes. He was perhaps the first Lord of Westeros she had met who did not seem to care for titles or status. When you have been the lowest of creatures, it is hard to still believe the top is worthy of its gold and praise. This is what Lord Tyrion did not understand. “Of the gods, in the old tongue.”

“Bad fit,” he sighed. 

“What is it, then, you believe you learned?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. He seemed so steeped in his regret, he would liked to have remained with this master of his. But he escaped. 

“What’s right and wrong,” he confessed as Missandei squeezed water from his short hair. She found a robe for him and helped him to stand. He seemed so lost in what he wished to say, it was easy to lead him to sit by the fire. “Do what he says and he might let me some scraps or sleep in the kennels. Do it wrong and he’ll hurt me. Just do what Ramsay says and it’s right. Before… before, I was the ward of Lord Stark. Did what he said, then what his son said. But then I went home to my father… thought I could choose myself, that I would know. But I didn’t know and everything burned down. It’s safer, to do what they say. Yara… Yara knows what’s right.” 

Missandei considered his words. He did not trust himself. In one way, it was a wise gesture, to know when another is more skilled than yourself, to give up your claim to rule to someone who is better suited. In another, it was deeply sad to see a man give up on himself so completely. “Do you plan to live never making another decision again?”

He leaned forward, burying his head in his hands. She could do nothing but lay a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know. I ruined everything long before he took me. How, how do you do it again? Be a person.”

“I do not know if I have an answer. I sometimes wonder myself. I think you must believe that we were always people, no matter what the masters have said or done. We chose to follow our Queen because we believe in her, because she freed us. But I do not sail home to Naath, the island of my birth. I have no living family. I still take orders, but my counsel has value. I have value to my Queen. She asks my feelings, thoughts and opinions, though she does not have to. If I wanted to leave her, I believe she would let me go and wish me well. I would like to think I am living as a free person does. This is where I choose to be.” 

He wore a grimace on his face, trying to hold back tears, but he nodded. He looked at her for a moment longer. “You’re a strong person. I’m not so strong as you.”

“In time,” she said and smiled in reply. She was taken aback by his kind words, though she said nothing.

He leaned forward, closer to the fire. It cast dark shadows under his eyes and he looked like an old man longing for rest. “What if... you weren’t a very good person to start with?”

“There are no masters in the grave,” she offered. He shrank lower. He had considered that before. Missandei thought on it for a moment. “Perhaps you are a good person just to worry that you are not one?”

She thought he almost smiled at her words, but instead he reached for the food. The plate was piled with fruit and roasted meats. With shaking hands, he held the plate out to her, offering her a Lord’s meal. She took a small piece of bread dipped in oil and spice. She imagined he was rarely given food under his master; he appearance was thin, almost emaciated. She knew the significance of a meal offered by one who has known starvation. She was touched by his graciousness. “Will you share this meal with me, Theon?”

They sat together for a time, slowly eating and savoring each bite, two former slaves in a liberated slaver’s city, piecing together what that meant.

 

\--------------

When she found him in his chambers, he was dressed and his hair damp. Yara was surprised he had not turned down the bath after all. “You bathed?”

He nodded, obediently. He did most things obediently these days. “I talked… to Missandei.” 

“The woman The Queen sent you off with? The translator?” 

“Yes.” 

Yara felt suddenly uncomfortable. Her brother had been no better than a thrall to Bolton. What could she even say to him that this Missandei could not better understand? So she hid this by throwing her leathers over a chair and dropping into it. “Did you eat?”

“Yes.” 

She nodded. A beat. “She’s better with you than I am.” 

Her brother stared at her questioningly. “...I’m not a child.”

“And yet I’m called back to the castle to mind you after your tantrum,” Yara snapped. Theon only looked at the ground. She ignored the apology that tumbled from his lips. He apologized for everything, dozens of times a day. He let a rope slip. He dropped a mug of ale. He asked her a question. It could be anything, really, and it drove her to the brink of her own madness. At least he was not talking about being hanged or beheaded for his actions in Winterfell. If she had to hear of the orphans tonight, she might jump in the sea. “I’m glad… to see you trying.” 

He shifted nervously. “Yara…”

She leaned her head back with her eyes closed. “Go on then.” 

“Why did you take me with you? You don’t need me anymore. Not after the kingsmoot. I’m not… I’m not the person you need me to be.” 

Yara wondered when he would ask. It was true, she did not need him to man a post or for any further political strategy. Euron had won the kingsmoot. Killing off all the male Greyjoys would be to her benefit, especially the one that limped and cried and forgot his name. “I’ve left you behind too many times before. You’re my brother. My  _ only _ brother. Mother would rise from the sea if I left you to Euron.”

“Left me behind?” he echoed, not understanding. Of course he wouldn’t understand. She had cursed him when he came home for betraying her, letting her men die. She had japed with him after he came home in Stark clothing. 

“I thought about removing you from Winterfell. It would have been easy. One quick blow from behind and I could have dragged you home to Pyke. You’d whine and bitch and spit at me, but you’d be alive. I thought you would be killed after I left, and I left you all the same.”  

Theon wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his fist, straightening up, trying to look the part he’s supposed to in front of her. “It was my choice.”

“Why did you stay, Theon? Even you couldn’t have been stupid enough to think you could hold Winterfell or trust the men you sailed with.”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I wanted to prove that I was Ironborn. That I didn’t forget who I was on the greenlands. But I didn’t want to do it. Kill those boys. Behead Ser Rodrik. Betray Robb. I  _ had _ to, to show them, all of you, that I wasn’t weak. And I didn’t want to be the Greyjoy who ran. Better to fight and die than be a...”

He choked on the word “coward” and Yara clenched her fist. “You wanted to be Maron. Rodrik.”

“They were Ironborn. They were men.”

“They were dead, Theon.” Yara shook her head. “You hated our brothers. I hated our brothers. They were brutes and cunts. They beat you for the fun of it. Iron Islanders don’t know anything of Westerosi lords or land warfare. They know how to raid fishing villages and steal little girls to make into salt wives. You took Winterfell because it was the only way you’d ever have it again. Did you think they’d love you if you ruled it? Your other family would come back and see the good job you’d done and pat you on the back for it while father sent you praise from Pyke?” 

He was suddenly on his knees, arms wrapped around his stomach, pressing his forehead into the stones. She heard him retch. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. There was nothing left to do but let them take my head. But he wouldn’t kill me.”

She stared impassively at him for a moment. The Starks and the Greyjoys could not be more different people. Her family killed men for their boots if they needed them. The Starks were the most honorable family of the old ways Westeros had ever seen. Stuck in the middle was her little brother. She sat on the floor beside him. “I wondered which dumb cunt talked you into murdering little boys and then I saw Dagmer acting your right hand. You could have raided Winterfell, left with their winter stores and weakened their resistance, no one caring a damn about whether you had the castle or not. Did you ever think of that?”

Theon didn’t respond, like a stone himself, doubled over. He slowly nodded his head against the floor. “...On the cross. Thought of it hundreds, thousands of ways.”

His shoulders started to shake and Yara knew where this was heading. He said, “You were right. You’re always right.” 

“Don’t be a flattering twat, I hate it more than your whimpering,” she sighed. Yara shifted and pulled him against her. He hardly weighed a thing. She wasn’t always right; she should have argued with father that he take Robb Stark’s offer. Now here they were in Meereen, carrying out Theon’s plan after all. Except now she had to convince all the reaving, raping men on the Islands to give up their ways. Murdering Euron would be an easier task. “Get on with it. Cry.” 

The sobs came from deep in his chest, they way they did when he thought she could no longer hear. She stroked the back of his head, staring into the fire, contemplating how everything had turned to such utter shit. She thought of her father, brothers, uncles and thought maybe it had always been wrecked. He clung to her like she might disappear. The Greyjoys were doomed the moment her father rebelled. Her brothers and mother were dead. Her father was dead. Theon was a shell of a man and her uncle was a bloodthirsty madman. Only she was left to fall, and as she held Theon to her breast, Yara wondered if he would let her.


	4. Yara & Daenerys: Consolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion failed to console Dany, but Yara might do better.
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains lesbian sex. You're welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had Dany/Yara on my mind since that intrigued look Dany gives Yara in S6 after she says, "I never demand, but I'm up for anything really." I've been in a slump lately, but I hope it treats you well! Thank you for reading.

The knock came softly on her door and Yara was surprised to see the violet eyes and silver hair of the woman she’d pledged her fleet to. “Your Grace.”

“May I?” Daenerys asked politely and Yara welcomed her in, shutting the door with a small smirk playing on her lips.

Yara poured two mugs of ale, her eyes never leaving the other woman. She saw the curve of her leg disappear under long skirts. “What brings you to my chambers tonight, Your Grace? And on your last night of exile.”

Daenerys Stormborn took a meaningful step toward her, her eyes serious. “I turned him away tonight. Tyrion utterly failed to console me at all. But my lover and I are no more.”

She let her eyes wander over this Dragon Queen. Her dress, black and flowing, rose and fell with each step. Yara kept her gaze measured. “So you could use a drink.”

“You said you could do better. That you’re up for anything,” the Queen stated, and Yara could almost feel the heat from her skin. She heard poison behind those words and Yara felt her cunt swell. This woman was a warrior, like her. She raided great cities and took them for her own, not just some cobbled together huts of fishing villages or old castles built around pine cones and snow. She could tell those delicate hands knew nothing of axe or sword, but they commanded dragons and burned men alive as she walked away with their armies. She left ashes in her wake, and Yara wanted her.

Yara held her chin higher. “Aye.”

Daenerys’ hands slid slowly up her neck to bury themselves into Yara’s dark hair. She felt the Queen’s words in hot breath against her cheek. Yara’s lips parted and tingling pleasure sailed up her spine as Daenerys tugged her into a rough kiss. “Console me.”

Yara didn’t hesitate, biting at her bottom lip and tongue slipping past teeth to explore that pink mouth. She tasted lush red wine on Daenerys’ tongue, and Yara could drown in her kiss, the god be damned. She could taste the fear on her, as well, the nervous bite at the stomach, compelling her to lose her wits like this. The Ironborn knew well to celebrate life before battle. Her hands fell to Daenerys’ waist and she pulled their hips together with a lewd thrust and smile. Of all the girls Yara has had, and there have been many, none could compare to the beauty of Daenerys Targaryen.

For a woman of fire, she was pale as winter, her hair silver and trailing in delicate curls down her back. Yara’s own hair was stringy with salt and windblown from the sea, pulled back, dull and lifeless, just to be rid of it from her eyes. Her clothes did not serve to make her a great beauty; they were meant to withstand the harsh ocean winds, oiled, waxed and dense. They only need be light enough that she could put her axe in a man’s throat. No, Daenerys’ cloth flowed on winds that came from nowhere and everywhere. Even in the black of her House, thick and warm for winter, her dress clung to every curve. She couldn’t wait to tear her out of it.

“They say there’s always one. A sullied woman who lures pure, good girls into sin and heresy. Tits and cunts. If only this crooked woman had not laid eyes on the girl, she would be well, marry a nice boy who’d put babes in her sweet little cunt.” Yara bit into Daenerys’ ear, tongue licking each curve. One hand caressed the Dragon Queens’ ass, grinding her hips into Daenerys’. “Is that what’s happening, Your Grace? Were you a good girl? Pure and noble?”

“We were all good girls once,” Daenerys breathed, bucking her hips in reply. “Who decides who is good? I could just be rid of them if it suited me. Are you supposed to be the wicked woman, leading me astray from my future husband?”

Yara grinned against her mouth and pushed her down until Daenerys fell back onto the bed. She pinned her wrists next to her silver curls and worked her thigh between slim legs. “Only if you want to be led.”

Daenerys hummed as Yara buried her face in her neck, sucking the soft skin there, nipping with hunger. She tasted the bitter oils that made her smell so sweet. “Prove you can make me feel something. I don’t want to think, I just want to feel it.”

She sat back on Daenerys’ hips, face flush. She could feel her cunt slick as she drank in her lips, plump and red from biting kisses, red hue across her cheeks. Her violet eyes held the fire of her namesake. She made quick work of the dress, undoing hooks and pulling back ties. Daenerys laughed at her skill. “Well, you handled that with more delicacy than a man.”

“That’s because women don’t like having to mend their pretty dresses after men with little cocks and littler minds tear them open,” Yara said as she kissed down her front, licking the salt from her skin, and helping Daenerys’ free her arms from the cloth. “Unwrap a woman like a gift.”

Daenerys let her eyes close as Yara took her breast into her mouth, swirling her tongue round the blushing bud, flicking across and sucking with a smack. Yara’s hands were making quick work of Daenerys’ breeches, but before she tugged them down her legs, she brought her full attention back to the Queen’s breasts. When else would she get to suck and squeeze royal tits? She would take her time, enjoy her spoils. They weren’t large, but they were pert and hard from the chill. Yara massaged her free breast, pinching and twisting her nipple, drawing short gasping breaths from Daenerys. She switched her attentions, lavishing her other mound with a rolling tongue, wet and hot. She sat back on her heels to admire them, her hands squeezing both, giving one a brisk slap that made Daenerys’ arch her back with a low moan. “By the Drowned God, you have glorious breasts.”

Daenerys was beginning to squirm beneath her, rocking her clothed cunt against Yara’s thigh. She stared intensely up at her, silently demanding more. Yara roughly yanked down her breeches, tugging and pulling until they were a heap on the floor. As she went to undo her own laces, she found Daenerys’ beating her to it. Yara bit her lip as she watched Daenerys tug the waist wider, no small clothes underneath, just dark curls peeking out. _Fuck, that’s beautiful._ Her breath quickened and her cunt throbbed and Yara needed these shit leathers on the floor now.

She shed herself of her clothes in a rush, tearing Daenerys’ dress out from around her so that they were both exposed to the night chill. Yara gave her a wicked grin when she saw that Daenerys could not help but roam her eyes over Yara’s breasts, nipples hard in the cold, down to the lean muscles of her stomach and the curls that hid her cunt. “Like what you see, love?”

Yara crawled atop her again, her fingernails lightly scratching Daenerys’ thighs, brushing achingly slow between her legs. Daenerys’ shivered, sucking in a sharp breath. Her eyes fluttered, losing herself to the moment before she coyly replied, “You’re pleasing to look at. These scars...”

Yara shuddered when Daenerys ran her fingers along her side, tracing the scars of battles long fought. There were two long gashes along her side from a soldier sent to defend the shoreline supplies. She cut them down in repayment. Yara moaned suddenly as Daenerys grasped the curves of her ass, nails biting into her flesh. _Hurry_ , her eyes said. With a laugh, the Ironborn woman ran a finger between Daenerys’ folds, from entrance to pearl, smiling wide to find her wet and ready. She swirled a gentle tip of her finger at the tiny nub hiding at the top of her cunny before she slid her curled middle digit deep inside the Queen. As Yara leaned down to capture her mouth again, Daenerys was already there to meet her, hands now tugging at the back of her head, leaning into a crushing kiss with stuttering moans between each thrust.

Yara dipped another finger in and rocked her hand, just a bit forward, searching the silky walls for a rough texture, a hidden doorway to a woman that has Yara’s reputation known from Pyke to the Free Cities. Daenerys’ cry told her she had found what she sought and Yara pumped her curled fingers, out and in, with a steady rhythm. The Queen’s mouth was wide and open, parted in a pouting circle, as Yara fucked her now three fingers deep. Daenerys gasped, brows knit together, violet eyes boring into Yara. “Gods.”

She felt her own cunt, wet and dripping for the woman quivering, writhing beneath her. Daenerys’ hips lifted from the bed to meet her hand. Yara had to use her thigh to support her wrist, Daenerys bucked with such desperate urgency. Yara panted alongside her, need pulsing through her stomach into her loins. She felt nails scratch along her back and Daenerys bit into her shoulder as her peak shook her. Yara growled out a moan at the sounds Daenerys made as her cunt tightened around her fingers. _I might come at that sound alone._ A moment of pause passed between them, their heavy breathing filling her ears. Daenerys’ slow grinding against her hand stretched each moment. Yara brought her fingers to her own mouth, slipping them slowly inside, savoring the sweet taste of royal cunt. Daenerys stared hard at her, drinking her in. Yara brought her thumb to the corner of Daenerys’ mouth and Daenerys lavishly sucked it in, tongue hot against her skin. This wicked woman only looked at her with big eyes asking for guidance. She’s new at this. What should she do? Yara’s cunt twitched as she guided Daenerys to her knees. Yara whispered into her ear, tugging her hand to Yara’s thighs, “Go on, give her a feel. Won’t bite... unless you ask.”

Yara drank in the pink flush that spread across her cheeks as Daenerys’ stroked her. She hissed as The Queen teased her entrance, tracing her folds as Yara rocked her hips over Daenerys’ fingers. She suddenly thrust two fingers to the hilt inside her. Yara gasped, biting Daenerys’ cheek, fingers losing themselves in her silver locks as Daenerys fucked her mercilessly, sparing no speed, as Yara cried out her favorite curses to the gods in all the languages she’d heard them. Yara couldn’t stop her hips, thrusting to meet Daenerys’ hand, an embarrassingly feminine gasp leaving her chest as Daenerys plunged a third finger inside her cunt. Then, the Dragon Queen was leaning down, licking circles around her breasts, tongue trailing down her stomach. Daenerys used her free hand to push Yara onto her back.

“You lied, Your Grace,” Yara gasped, baring her throat to Daenerys as she pressed her head back into the bed. “I am not your first.”

Daenerys murmured, “Mayhaps. Or maybe I hadn’t stopped thinking of it since we met. You could almost pass for a man, if not for your swaggering hips and these.”

The Queen squeezed her breasts, leaving half moons across the soft flesh. The answer that crossed her mind was as soon gone as the Queen licked between her folds, sucking at her little nub. She grasped at her silver hair, forcing her closer, a small, pleased laugh from Daenerys’. Three fingers rocked inside her cunny and the soft wet of the Queen’s tongue lapped at Yara’s pearl, swirling High Valyrian into her cunt. She couldn’t think, those fingers finding her favorite spot, their rhythm relentless and Yara shivered under her. She floated, little waves of pleasure taking her under as Daenerys licked in time to her thrusts. “Fuck, Daenerys.”

Yara’s peak hit her five times the harder as Daenerys left her cunt empty to deliver a swift smack to her cunny. She was wrecked before her and wondered what it would be like to forsake her crown and become a royal salt wife.

“ _Your Grace_ ,” she corrected, resenting the edge of desperation in her words and earning her the return of Daenerys’ mouth. A smirk spread on her face as Daenerys lapped at her juices, spreading over her chin. She ran a hand through her hair and let her body shake. When was the last time a woman had fucked her that good? It was almost enough to forget Euron, Theon, her kingdom on the run.

“Here, love,” Yara breathed, tugging Daenerys’ hips to her face. She ran her hands down the Queen’s sides. “Sit lower…”

Daenerys steadied herself with one hand, sinking down and settling snug atop the curves of Yara’s lips. Her head fell backward in wanton pleasure as Yara’s tongue plunged inside her, strong arms pulling her even closer. So wet, so warm, so much more knowing than the sloppy, groping tongues of men. Yara was a reaver, after all, a woman of iron, and she tread the path with reverence toward her goal. Daenerys screamed when teeth brushed gentle around her cunt, sucked in between hungry lips. The Queen’s fingers clutched her own breasts, swaying her hips back and forth, as Yara’s tongue flicked teasingly over her cunt. Her juices ran down Yara’s face as she greedily sought more, a woman dying of thirst. Her eyes fluttered closed, Daenerys twisting her nipples as Yara worked. She might drown before the morrow, the way Daenerys mewled and spilled for her.

Yara imagined what might run through this silver woman’s mind. Did she picture her throne, her victory, her people, her children circling the air? Daenerys Targaryen, the true last dragon, with her lovers faces, kissing her feet, worshipping her. Yara held her steady as Daenerys' peak pulsed through her, her cunt throbbing. A rush of air left Daenerys as Yara licked her clean, pleasure crashing and retreating inside her, threatening to pull her under a dark sea. Yara’s eyes, they tore her down, as storms at daybreak might. For a moment, Daenerys and Yara both forgot that tomorrow they would sail to war. It was enough. It would have to be.

Consolation, distraction, whatever it was, it would hold Yara’s mind solid through the blood and dungeons that would come for her.


End file.
